


In Which Morwen Doesn't Do Any Laundry But Does Cast a Spell

by Laurea



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: Between Book 1 and Book 2, Gen, Not Very Heroic Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:22:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13008702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurea/pseuds/Laurea
Summary: Morwen and Cimorene just wanted to try out a new spell, but the Enchanted Forest had other ideas.





	In Which Morwen Doesn't Do Any Laundry But Does Cast a Spell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluestalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestalking/gifts).



> Set after Book 1 but before Book 2, during the time when Cimorene is still living with the dragons.

Sometimes Morwen found it rather trying to live in a forest where landmarks moved around at will. She’d walked to the Ripple Run River near her cottage three times last week without incident, as she’d worked on perfecting her spell to renew clothing enchantments with running water – but now that Cimorene had asked to see the process, the river was nowhere to be found. And while Morwen had no objections to a long walk in the woods with her friend, she would have preferred to do it when they weren’t each lugging a basket of clothing and spellcasting supplies.

“The Enchanted Forest usually only plays these tricks on heroes, not residents,” Morwen said, frowning at the trees around her. “It might move places around, but I’ve never had the forest keep me away from my destination as long as I followed the proper directions.”

“I thought this seemed like a longer walk than you’d said initially,” Cimorene said, nodding. “Has it moved us far off course?”

“Not exactly.” Morwen had to readjust her grip on the heavy basket as she turned to face Cimorene. “I know where we are, more or less – we’ve been walking parallel to the riverbank for the last mile. The Forest has been keeping us away, no matter how many times I’ve tried to turn us back toward the water.”

“I see.” Cimorene looked back the way they’d come, then turned to check the path ahead. “Well, if the Forest is shifting us around like that, I can’t imagine going back the way we came would do much good.”

“Unlikely,” Morwen agreed. “But since we’re not lost, I would prefer to avoid taking drastic measures if it isn’t necessary. Do you mind going along with it for now?”

“If it’s just a long walk, that won’t bother me,” Cimorene said. “But if we’re not back at your cottage when Kazul comes back this afternoon, you know she’ll worry.”

“True.” Morwen thought for a moment. “Then if the Forest hasn’t let us pass in the next ten minutes, I’ll use one of the spells I keep on hand for any location complications.”

But fortunately, matters didn’t escalate quite that far. The two women had only been walking a few minutes longer when the glint of moving water shone through the trees ahead.

At this distance from the river, normally the musical sound of its ripples filled the air… but today, a much less pleasant sound drowned it out. The closer they got to the river, the more clearly they could hear the voice of an extremely irritated young man expressing his frustration at the top of his lungs.

And when they turned the final bend in the path, they emerged just a short distance away from a well-dressed young man shouting insults at a creature perched on a nearby boulder. It was hard to tell just what kind of creature it was from this angle, but from the flashy feathered hat and highly impractical buckled boots, Morwen would have guessed it was a gnome, or even an unusually small elf. Both enjoyed causing trouble for adventurers, and the young man had all the earmarks of a would-be hero whose quest had gone awry.

And if that was the case, Morwen had no intention of getting tangled up in it. She had more than enough to do without a hero deciding she’d been sent to solve whatever problem he’d gotten himself into. She glanced over at Cimorene, preparing to head back into the woods before the hero could make a nuisance of himself – but when they turned around, the path had disappeared.

“Hail, fair maidens!”

Morwen grimaced, but at that point there was really no choice but to turn around. The hero had tried to strike what might have been a dramatic pose, if not for his sword belt forcing him to list heavily to one side. Rather than readjusting it properly, he opted to ignore it and flash what he clearly thought was an impressive smile at them instead.

“What terrible crisis brings such lovely, defenseless damsels to the perilous –” He stopped short, eyes widening as he finally registered the baskets they were carrying. “Laundry? Don’t tell me that you came all the way to the middle of the Enchanted Forest to do _laundry_!”

Morwen wasn’t about to correct him – not when the last hero she’d been unable to avoid had kept arguing that she couldn’t possibly be a real witch because her house wasn’t made of gingerbread. And that wasn’t even getting into all of Cimorene’s hero problems. “Something like that,” she said vaguely.

He immediately dropped the dramatic pose, rolling his eyes. “Figures you wouldn’t be princesses or something useful like that.”

“Laundry is extremely useful,” Cimorene informed him coolly, her eyes narrowing. “Much more than just being a princess.”

“Of course it is,” he said, in the condescending tones of a man who had never had to wash his own clothing in his life. “It’s not going to get me any riches, though. This quest has been the biggest waste of time. Hell, I should never have followed that damn guide in here!” He glared at his companion on the boulder.

The creature twisted in place as the hero’s attention turned on it, arms reaching for its hat. But for some reason, the hero didn’t look at all alarmed at his guide’s obvious distress. Morwen’s eyebrows shot up – she knew of heroes who’d found themselves cursed for far less. “Are you sure you want to speak that way?”

“So a little language bothers you?” the hero snapped. “I’d like to hear what you’d say after the day I’ve had – it sure would be drat or fiddlesticks!” He shot the creature another venomous glare.

Morwen was about to clarify that she hadn’t meant anything of the sort, but before she could – the most forlorn meow she’d ever heard split through the air. She turned sharply toward it – and found herself staring at the creature on the boulder as it clawed pathetically at the hat perched on its head.

No… not just a creature. With eight cats of her own, Morwen knew the difference between enchanted creatures and a genuine cat – and now that she looked more closely, she could see that this was a very miserable cat indeed.

And no wonder. She’d taken it for a fashionably dressed forest resident, but now that she was closer to it, that was obviously not the case. The poor thing might have been stuffed into a ridiculous hat and vest, but the way he clawed helplessly at them suggested that this hadn’t been done of his own free will. And yes, he was standing on his hind feet, paws strapped into those ridiculous buckled boots… but Morwen didn’t like the look of them at all.

She turned to look at the hero, eyebrows snapping together in a sharp line. “What have you been doing to that cat?”

“Not much compared to what I’ll do if it doesn’t start being useful,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe my brother was right when he said we should just throw it in the river after Grandpa died.”

“You were going to do _what_?”

“My brother – not me!” he said, as if that made it better. “I know what it means when an elderly relative leaves a cat behind – I heard about that guy who fought the Deep Swamp Ogre!”

Morwen had heard about that, too – probably a good deal more than the hero had, since he didn’t appear to be aware that the grandfather in question had been a sorcerer and the cat had been his familiar. She narrowed her eyes at the hero. “And how exactly does that justify what you’ve done to this poor creature?”

“What I’ve done?” the hero demanded indignantly. “All I wanted was a nice simple quest so I could finally stop working in my dad’s boring grocery store all day – but this stupid thing wouldn’t listen! No matter how much I told it that I was ready for it to unveil its true form, all it did was eat and sleep all day! So I figured it must need something to help it along.”

Morwen could see where he was going, and she didn’t like it one bit. “Do you mean to tell me that you’re forcing this poor cat to stand like this by magic?”

“Only because it wouldn’t do it by itself!”

Morwen had heard enough. She stopped listening to the rest of the hero’s protests, since he clearly didn’t have a single useful thought rattling around in his empty head. Instead, she knelt to set her basket on the ground and began searching through the magical supplies it contained. If this idiot really was trying to mode himself after that mess with the ogre, then she knew exactly what was happening to that poor cat. It was only the work of a moment to unearth the small vial of rosemary-infused rainwater she needed to deal with it.

She turned sharply toward the miserable cat and emptied the vial on the wretched boots.

“Earth and water, leaf and rain,  
End the spell and stop the pain!”

And with a groan of slowly tearing paper, the boots peeled off the cat’s legs and slid down the boulder, letting the poor thing drop onto all fours with a startled mew.

“Hey!” the hero objected, lunging toward the boot pieces as they fell into the river. “Hey, you can’t do that! Those shoes cost me a month’s wages!”

“Then you should be more careful about how you spend your money,” Cimorene told him, sounding decidedly unimpressed with his tantrum.

“What do you know about it? You’re just –” Then he stopped short, looking from the women to the cat, then to the vial in Morwen’s hand. “Wait – you’re not laundry women, are you? You – you tricked me! You’re _witches_ in disguise!”

Morwen had had just about enough of this so-called hero. Instead of wasting time trying to explain to him that carrying a basket was not actually a disguise, she pushed herself to her feet so she could glare at him more effectively. “And you are a very cruel young man. Couldn’t you see that cat was suffering?”

“So what? It’s just a stupid cat, not even worth the money I spent on these!” The hero struggled to hold onto the boot pieces as the river water tried to pull them from his grip.

Morwen narrowed her eyes. She normally tried to avoid impulsive uses of magic… but this hero had done terrible things to a cat for no good reason at all.

“Washing in the current’s flow, let the fading magic go.  
As the water springs anew, cast the spell and hold it true!”

And as she finished, the boot scraps reformed – locking tightly around each of the hero’s hands.

“Well, I guess I’ve seen how that spell works,” Cimorene said, trying to suppress a smile as the hero gaped down at his imprisoned hands in shock.

“You – what did you –” the hero spluttered, trying unsuccessfully to scrape the boots off his hands by rubbing them against one another.

“Not quite so comfortable from the other side, I see,” Morwen said, a rather unpleasant smile threatening to burst across her lips. “You should really take that up with the shopkeeper who sold you those things.”

“Yes, maybe you can even get your money back.” Anyone who knew Cimorene would have heard the disdain in her voice – but it seemed to sail right over the hero’s head.

“Fine!” he said angrily. “But – but I won’t forget this!”

“See that you don’t,” Morwen told him severely.

The hero glared at her – but he seemed to realize that there wasn’t much he could do when his hands were quite literally tied. He spun and tried to storm off, but the squelching of his wet boots rather ruined the effect.

Morwen sighed, turning back to her basket – only to find that the brown cat had leapt into it, nosing curiously through her enchanted robes. Her expression softened. “Well, at least you’re feeling better. But I think I’d better take you back home to check over, just to be sure.”

The cat looked up at the sound of her voice, giving an inquisitive meow. Morwen held out a cautious hand for him to sniff, and he immediately began headbutting her fingers until she scratched his ears. He purred happily under the attention, and Morwen couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, I suppose nine cats isn’t much more than eight.”


End file.
